The “male” feminist

Bane notes an observable phenomenon:

what is it with these effiminate menstrual-male pilot fishes that swim with these angry femisharks, anyway?

We’ve all seen them. Wild haired, wide-eyed behind Harry Potter glasses, mouthing feminist propaganda and doggerel alongside their larger, more threatening sistern, with their man-purse over their shoulder and ready to shake their skinny fist at you the moment their Alpha Bitch gives them permission. She usually makes them hold the sign, while she works the bullhorn.

There were more than a few of these on my campus, although being a heavily Greek campus, the serious feminists were mostly in the professariat. Our student feministas were so backward and half-hearted that they still dated men, those few that were attractive enough to do so, anyhow.

Aside from the Sexist Pornographer incident, wherein the White Buffalo and I achieved Campus Hero status at the Pyhrric price of one defaced Stephanie Seymour poster, they were inobtrusive, holding Take Back The Night rallies while trying to stay out of the way of drunken couples heading homeward for a little date rape.

I remember there were two guys who always hung out with the grotesquoisie, one of whom had lived with Big Chilly and the White Buffalo before me. Unsurprisingly, both pilot fish eventually came out of the closet… in retrospect, the Greg Louganis poster he left behind was probably the first clue.